Ode to the Broken People
by PaisleyHearts
Summary: Society defines Amon in black; evil, wrong. Society defines Korra in white; good, right. Both on the front line of a war they started. He wants to tame her. She wants to break him. But their connection surpasses the illusion of war. Includes smut but not as the center of the story. AU. Now with an original song in chapter 2.
1. Ode to the Broken People

**Author's Note: **The italicized text is the poem. The poem snippets have ~.~ at the beginning and ends of them.

**NOTICE:** Minor editions have been made from the original version.

**Disclaimer:** I own the poem, the plot, and nothing more. Legend of Korra and all its characters are of the bright minds of Bryke.

* * *

**I. Hidden**

Amon has been attending the same bar since he first crossed the borders of Republic City. Every once in a while, when things with the revolution become particularly stressful, he chooses to remove his mask and cover himself with a different cloak. The Equalist leader becomes a man in the crowd just looking to have a drink. It's never enough to completely inebriate him but always enough to dull his senses. If just for a handful of hours. So a couple of times a week, Amon finds himself in the same stool.

Korra enjoys drinking. She can never drink very much for Tenzin will surely notice the next morning. The burn of the alcoholic beverages making their way down her throat and into her stomach allow her to forget about Avatar responsibilities for a little while. Her first nights in Republic City were spent fighting off sleazy men and women trying to sell her drugs. After Asami caught her sneaking out one night, she found out that this would be the best bar for her. The men are still looking for an easy one and the women rude but they knew when to stay away. So once or twice a week, Korra finds herself in the same darkened corner.

After mistakenly having taken a shot of cactus juice, Korra decides that anymore alcohol intake would create consequences she will not have the energy to deal with the next morning. She begins to leave, head low to avoid eye-contact with any drunken men. This is what keeps her from seeing a broad shouldered, black wall right in front of her. With a small 'umf' she falls back. Instead of a pound on her bottom, there are two strong hands that grasp her biceps.

It takes him a second to realize that the girl he is holding onto is the Avatar. She pulls away from his hands quickly. His breath catches thinking that she figured who he is. The hood is supposed to specifically prevent this type of situation. His breathing returns to normal at her words.

''Not tonight. Go find a girl who's had more to drink.''

She begins to walk away. He doesn't understand why, but something compels Amon to speak. They could both move on from this situation and it would be the same as if it never happened. But he speaks anyways, using a slightly higher register of his voice so that he can further avoid her recognizing him.

''Pardon me ma'am. I should have seen where I was going.''

She turns, three paces away from him, with a bewildered look. The hood shadows Amon's entire face, but, somehow, Korra knows she's making eye contact.

''Ma'am? Do you…not know who I am?''

She tries not to sound conceited, Spirits knows she isn't. But a smirk grows on Amon's face. He will pretend to not know her. He doesn't know where this will end up. If trouble arises, he can always chi-block her and leave.

''You are vaguely familiar. Maybe I have seen you in the market before?''

This stranger (and somehow eerily familiar) intrigues Korra. She has to know more about the man under the hood. She has to know more about the man who claims to not know her.

''Sorry, I didn't ask your name.''

''It's Noatak.''

-o-

The conversation should have ended there. Or maybe, the conversation should have never of occurred. The second the first word was spoken, the ice beneath their feet began to melt. And neither of them knows how to keep afloat in the whirling waves of the heaving ocean.

~.~  
_Lay out the pieces.__  
__Black and white,_  
_define this checkered pattern._  
_My troops loud,_  
_in sync strategies._  
_Your pawns delicate,_  
_surprise a charm._  
~.~

**II. Compromise**

They left the bar and began to walk around the city, the stars and the moon as their only audience members. Conversation drifted easily between them. They spoke of themselves, mostly, while still avoiding his identity. Neither of them knows who initiated the kiss. Neither of them knows who led them into a dark alley. Neither of them knows who suggested they go to a room (one of his adopted bedrooms is nearby). But neither of them cares.

Moans echo through the dark of the bedroom. Sweat glistens off their bodies. Hands explore every dip and curve. Inaudible murmurings are lost in the hollows of necks. Pleads of more are punctuated with the yanks of hair. Amon loses himself in the frenzy of sex along with Korra. She forgets that there's training with Tenzin in the early hours of the morning. But he forgets much more. He forgets that this girl is supposed to be his enemy. He forgets that he is Amon.

She screams his name (the name he was born with). He groans hers. When they are done, she lays on top of him. The levity of the night begins to set onto Amon when Korra's breathing has leveled into the rhythm of sleep. He is stroking her hair, absently thinking. The thought has been floating along in the corners of his lusted mind and it suddenly solidifies.

A feral growl escapes him. Korra, exhausted, does no more than twitch at the sound. His hand stills, half-way down her hair. He wants to grab her and throw her against the cement wall. He wants to see her face as she realizes who she has slept with. She had seduced him. But he played the fool and allowed her. What a damn fool he has been. But Amon is a man who can own up to his mistakes. Once again, he will let her go. Tonight will be nothing more than a meaningless encounter. It is that thought that finally lulls him to sleep.

-o-

The significance of tonight's actions are lost on you. Humans think they can obtain control as easily as they can use any of their senses. You don't understand that we are all connected by strings that are made of the strongest substance in existence: life.

~.~  
_Under the battle ground,__  
__choking you with purpose._  
_Too old to be deceived._  
_Strength of no resistance-_  
_slow, I know not._  
_Such a small frame_  
_begs to be tamed._

_In the shadow of blood-lust,__  
__eyes able to tear into the layers._  
_Black curtain tresses, your veil._  
_Feather-light, hardly called touch._  
_Smooth flesh_  
_you command me to bruise._  
~.~

**III. Exposure**

Amon awakes after the first night to a cold breeze and a note on his chest. In thin lettering, he reads a date, time, and place. He pays no mind to the note. What happened the night before cannot be repeated.

It is days later when the idea forms. The Avatar may be a human serving as equilibrium for higher powers, but she is still human. She is prone to human wants and desires. If he treads carefully, Amon can keep being Noatak with her. He will hold her in his hands and mold her heart to _his_ desire. The idea is drastic, yes. But making the Avatar fall in love with the enemy will allow him to tame her in every sense possible.

So he meets her. He meets her not just once or twice, but so many times after. In some instances, they will talk for several hours. In others, the pitches and volumes of their moans are the only communication they need.

Weeks pass and Amon knows he is crawling under her skin. She is wet clay in his hands. Korra thinks she can trust him so she tells him secrets. In exchange, he tells her carefully selected snippets of his life, if only to keep the illusion alive.

Tonight, they are together again, in the same bedroom from the first night. Clothes were discarded long ago. He thrust into her in rhythm with their racing hearts. She screams, eyes closed, and ends with a moan. And yes, this flustered, screaming Avatar is his drug. Knowing that he can produce such a reaction brings him over the edge.

Into the hollow of her neck, he groans her name and punctuates the exclamation with a hungry kiss to her lips. He pulls away, eyes clouded in lust. But even through the fog, he can see that she sees it as well. And she starts to laugh. It's not the sound of a woman in joy or even of one who finds something funny. This laugh is one that escapes his lips when he imagines her reaction when the truth is revealed. This laugh is one that escapes a predator when its prey has been cornered with no hope of escape. This laugh sends chills down his spine.

Korra turns them, still laughing darkly. She straddles him and bends so that he can feel her hot breath on his face. Cerulean pierces ghost-blue with dark amusement.

''Tell me how you want me, Amon.''

A second after she speaks, meaning seeps through his clouded daze. An angry growl begins deep in his throat and he is about to lunge at her, ready to punish her this very second. But the growl transforms into a moan which he is weak enough to release.

Korra is working him with her mouth. It isn't the first time she's done so, but something is different now. She doesn't take him entirely. That would show him mercy. No, she teases him with the slick surface of her warm tongue. Just sliding, slowly, all around. His mind recreates the image from the first night. He should yank her by the hair and slam her frame against the wall to cease all intimate contact. But logic has fled. The voice that told him that this was all for the purpose of war is silent. Instead, he is hypnotized by the eyes that have not broke contact since she first made it known that she knew the truth.

''Tell me how much you want me.''

A smirk, which resembles the one carved into his mask, shadows her face. The horrible irony. Amon wants to tell her how he _does_ want more, but he is determined to win.

''I am the one who gives commands, Avatar.''

Her warmth is gone in an instant, but her face remains the same. She dresses and leaves without another word.

-o-

The warning signs were there from the very beginning. But blinded by the urge to kill, both of you thought you were wise enough to continue on a path that could only lead to destruction. And now, you find yourself in a maze with nothing but dead ends.

~.~  
_He moves as a whisper,__  
__every possibility sketched_  
_in fading ink._  
_A fire ablaze when inside her._  
_She flows as a song,_  
_taking each current to advantage._  
_Softened earth_  
_to be molded in his clutches._  
~.~

**IV. Dangerous**

This game could have ended when the truth had been revealed. But that is too simple a solution to a war that needs to end for the greater good. Korra wants to do the same to Amon that he has intended to do with her. She wants to break him and grab hold of every weakness. Two stubborn people trying to work against each other.

Sometimes, he will attack her, blind her, and take her to a darkened room. All in an attempt to instill fear.

Sometimes, she will lure him with whispered promises to become Noatak for the night. All in an attempt to demonstrate control.

Push. Pull. A reinvented game of cat and mouse.

Unlike their first few meetings, Korra never does what he wants any more. Her fingers trail everywhere, leaving nothing but goose bumps in their wake. Korra never gives any hint that she wants more from him. She holds back moans and screams, riding through orgasms in silence. The only hint received that he has brought her over is the tightening off her slippery walls and the breath she releases when it is over.

Korra wants him to beg her for more. Wants to know that she has him wrapped around her finger. She wants him to yell her name in pleasure and describe every sensation she's causing. Korra wants Amon to voice the hunger she feels. But his face is stoic.

Unlike their first few meetings, Amon says nothing. He pounds into her with every bit of strength he can muster. He buries his fingers so deep into her skin, it discolors in grotesque shapes. Amon scatters bite marks across her body that bleed every time and never heal. Although obvious when he peaks, he stares at her, wearing an emotionless mask.

Amon wants her to tell him to be more gentle. Wants to know that she is a tamed creature. He wants to hear the rising pitch of the screams only he can cause. Amon wants Korra to tell him how perfectly they fit. But she only smirks.

-o-

It's a fight for dominance. Your true strength cannot shine through until someone relinquishes control to the other, if only for a moment. But no, dominance is not something either of you is willing to release. Who, in their right mind, had decided to pair souls with the same personality?

~.~  
_Ignorant children partaking__  
__in games of ambiguity._  
_Hearts meant to be abandoned,_  
_these nights were intended to be_  
_bullets to the head._  
''_All's fair in love and war.''__  
__Spoken as separate eras._  
_What if one in the same?_

_One declares a check mate._  
_The other overturns the table._  
_A million and one shades of gray._  
_Fly. Spill. Scatter. Still. Forgotten._  
_Bodies lock in positions: familiar._  
_Spirits rejoice at the union: sacred.  
_~.~

**V. Awakening**

Korra still has nightmares. She still wakes up in the middle of night screaming, Naga whining at her side. But these nightmares have progressively changed. Once, the fear arose out of dream-Amon taking her bending. Now, she screams because she sees her dream-self ending his life.

Korra makes herself believe that this is perfectly normal. She is eighteen years old and her body is raging with hormones. There was bound to be a part of her that would grow an attachment to the enemy. It will be okay. She planned for this, she says. When the final battle arrives, Amon will no longer be a worry. In reality and dreams both.

Amon still equalizes. He still sees Republic City as the beginning for non-benders. His opinions have not changed, but he wants Korra for his own. The promise he made to save her last rings through his head as a painful reminder.

Amon builds many theories on why his original plan has turned out like this. The best of them is that he is a man and she, a woman. He can recognize that he is a human with needs and desires much like the Avatar. He is merely releasing his sexual frustration with the only woman he can imagine himself being with.

RepublicCity is the one to call the Endgame over the two leaders of war. Yes, it ends in the ultimate battle between the masked man and the girl of the people, but that's not how it begins. The finger to tip the first domino is a few equalists who attack Bei Fong Metal Bending Academy. Two lives destroyed and the end has been set into motion. Fires engulf homes of the innocent. Rocks cave in the roads to freedom. Water floods the gates of hope. Thousands are forced to evacuate, not wanting to be involved in a politician's battle.

The number on both ends slowly decreases as the days pass. Each person's frustrations grow. Hundreds demand, yell, push, force the two heads of war to come face to face. The two begrudgingly comply, not wanting to be the cause of any more casualties.

They meet, alone, inside the broken arena. There is a haunting silence in the empty seats and the stale wind blowing through the broken windows.

In circles, they walk. Predator circling predator. The deadly battle begins. He uses his tools of electricity and self defense. She calls to her the manipulation of the four elements. The arena echoes with the crashes of another missed target, with the yells of frustration, with the grunts of exertion. Korra doesn't dare go into the Avatar State. This way, if she dies, the next Avatar will be born and there will still be hope of insuring balance.

From one second to the next, the arena falls into the silence of before. They are standing, with no more than a few inches between them. Amon holds a blade to her throat and Korra holds an ice dagger to his. Chests rise and fall rapidly and eye contact does not break. Hearts pound so loudly, they drown out sound. Sweat gleams off of every bit of exposed skin. Hours or days go by and both maintain their positions.

''Didn't you once promise me that you would be my end? Well, here is your chance!''

Each word is louder than the one before and Korra doesn't understand where the sudden anger is flaring from. It spreads through her body and creates an aura that touches Amon. And he's suddenly angry as well.

''What of your promise, Avatar? Painted as the city's savior, your definition of equality is a twitch of your muscle away.''

Eye contact still does not break. More long moments pass. Unspoken messages reach their destinations in a form of communication only they have mastered. Slowly, they each understand the other. They want to believe it happened in an instant. They both know that this understanding happened long ago. Maybe it was after the first encounter. Maybe, after the tenth.

On the same ground that Avatar Korra and Equalist Leader Amon had been fighting to the death, they consummate the understanding of one another. The understanding of the goals and ambitions and representations of one another. Honesty broke through the walls that had been built.

Forging a bond so pure, the hungers end and the thirsts are quenched.

-o-

Some try to find logic in this-something about yin and yang. Preposterous. Opposites would imply a separation. But these two souls have fallen so far into the melted sea that the darkness swirls their silhouettes. One or the other, it is all the same.

~.~  
_Tools of manipulation, he preached.__  
__Luring for secrets, she claimed._  
_Souls are not meant_  
_to fight their ways through war._  
_The terrorist,_  
_the messiah,_  
_the world your checkered ground._  
~.~

**VI. Finality**

As the Avatar, Korra assumes she has the power to sway the people of Republic City. She forms compromises, ready to present them to the Council. Yes, crimes would have to be paid for, but she thought having everyone work together would work as payment. But the city is littered with people of closed minds.

The Avatar is supposed to have some say. He or she is the representation of balance in the eyes of both the Spirits and the people. But the Council took hold of the fact that she is only eighteen. ''She is a teenager with a mind still waiting to be molded. Our Avatar has been seduced with sugared lies. Do not blame her, for she is young. What we _can_ do is make the decisions that will end this violent era.''

Society's standards forced a girl to look in the mirror and see a hero the second she realized that she could bend more than one element. Society's standards forced a girl out of normalcy before she even knew what it was. Society demands and gives nothing in return. Korra tries to gain force in numbers. A council made up of only benders will not listen to a dozen bending teenagers and a frustrated group of non-benders. But this is fairness in the Council's eyes.

She is there during, what is later called, the Final Trial. The Council had long before decided what Amon's punishment would be. They tried every person charged with equalist participation and purposely held Amon's last. The courtroom brims with the media and esteemed leaders of far-off lands. Korra is dignified with a chair in the front row. Throughout the charges, the stories, personal accounts, and evidence, Korra attempts to calculate how many years in prison he will be branded with. She figures the worst they could do is a life sentence.

''A unanimous vote of the Council has found Amon guilty of all charges presented today. A four-to-one vote sentences Amon to the ultimate penalty: death.''

Flashes fill the air and the loud grumble of the media engulfs the courtroom before the gavel has time to hit the wooden surface. But none of those sounds matter to Mako, Bolin, or Asami. The last string of control has snapped and Korra falls into the AvatarState. The three are trying to hold a girl with glowing eyes down.

They succeed in calming her down to a hysterical, angry crying without anyone getting hurt in the process. By the time this happens, Amon has been taken away. No chance for one last glance. A clean cut.

That same day, Amon is executed.

Korra becomes nothing more than a broken shard. She is a dull shell that once held something beautiful. No matter how much she wishes to continue the Avatar Cycle and claim the Spirit World as her permanent home, she knows she cannot. She is the Avatar. She is the savior. She is the only one who can help the people regain their humanity.

-o-

Too worried about contradicting what you once said, you have doomed the people you represent. You have broken your only hope for peace. You and every person like you stick your hands up the puppets you title Avatars. Ventriloquism. Although they might have been two people who came together under unconventional means, you had no right to tear them apart. The world does not deserve their Avatar.

_**~FIN~**_

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you guys really enjoyed this. I tried my best to make it different from all the other fics I've done before. I'm still apprehensive because the last two parts seem a little rushed too me. I couldn't figure out how to stretch them out without making it _too_ long, so I left it as the original draft. Be kind and leave me your thoughts.

If you would like to read the poem on its own, it's on fictionpress: /s/3042363/1/Amorra


	2. Love&War

_******Rewrite or summarize your fic in song/poem format.**_

So I took up the challenge as quick as I could.

**These lyrics are original and all mine. There is some overlay because the song is based off the same story that the previous poem is. That that's mine too so it doesn't matter. Inspiration is attributed to pandora for setting the challenge and to Bryke for creating characters that I can manipulate at my will.  
**

* * *

******Love & War**

A game of war chess;  
silent and deadly.  
Front line dancers  
spin me in rhythm  
to our erratic heart beats.

Smoke figurines - just breathe.  
My blood under your grip.  
Whisper touch creates  
goose bump trails  
screaming for you and I.

A past drawn in  
permanent ink stains.  
The future, stepping stones untouched.  
Edges mix and blend  
into hues of disdainful gray.  
Expose the truth of who we are.

Jumping through hoops,  
desire for Endgame.  
Strange how those hoops  
remind me of wedding rings;  
vows of un-exiting forevers.

A past drawn in  
permanent ink stains.  
The future, stepping stones untouched.  
Edges mix and blend  
into hues of disdainful gray.  
Show me, show us.  
Expose the truth of who we are.

We're falling too fast!  
Can't see the ground below.  
These aren't clouds we're walking on.  
Butterflies morphed into stones  
too heavy to carry across  
the sea of our tears.

A past drawn in  
permanent ink stains.  
The future, stepping stones untouched.  
Edges mix and blend  
into hues of disdainful gray.  
Show me, show us.  
Expose the truth of who we are.

Once we were - no more now.  
Your soul dwells with what spirits?  
The terrorist, the messiah.  
The world our checkered ground.

A past draw in  
permanent ink stains.  
The future, stepping stones untouched.  
Edges mix and blend  
into hues of disdainful gray.  
Show me, show us.  
Expose the truth of who we are.  
Expose the truth of who we are.


End file.
